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coffee-spoons This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

—we used to think mothers spat out babies
from the back of their throats, like phlegm—

we grew up in each other’s arms; i’m worried
we’re going to forget our mothers and become each other’s
everyone. i spend most of my time thinking about this,
even when i’m trying to concentrate
on the part of you i love best:
the hollow at the base of your neck—
(remember when i thought the rounded ends of my collarbones
were all the breasts i’d ever grow? remember how you
touched them and said you would like to live in my body too?
[you felt as if there were games girls played
inside themselves that excluded you]

it’s true.)
i can taste the difference between self-induced and sick, but
i can also turn pieces of me into your favourite flowers, and
remember every time your body has come
within a ten-inch radius of mine.

prufrock measured out his life in coffee-spoons,
i think i measure mine in loving you.



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